The Silver Cane
by Goddess of Thieves
Summary: Shoddy paperwork and no investigation have led fifteen year old Mikaela to believe she is the only survivor in her family's tragedy. But as she finds out, in a family of thieves, there's always the ones that slip under the radar ...until now.
1. Jailbreak

So.

Recently I've taken up the change to play Sly Cooper 2, and that got me into the whole franchise again. So my little brain goes and remembers that I have a fanfic somewhere in my computer on the related topic, and I get the smart idea to go and look it over, maybe revise, and begin writing again.

Oh. My. GOD. Such a horrible, mentally scarring choise. O.O

After I got over the shock of how poorly written it was, and how much I hated writing a whole story in first person (because I've discovered, I CAN'T DO IT), the plot bunny of Sly's little sister who's favorite color was purple still was present and very much alive.

So I re-wrote the story. And it has an actual plot this time! :D

I don't know how far I'll go with this …It will probably eventually end up merging with the beginning of Sly Cooper 2, but as for the ending, or Sly 1 and/or 3, I haven't the foggiest if I'll tie those in, but chances are not. By the time I get my little girl into real international thieving, I think Sly and his gang will have already beat the Gang of Five, or whatever that's called. (doesn't own the first game, if you can't tell)

Without further ado, I give you the Silver Cane, version 2.0! (And with my disclaimer that I most definitely do not own the Cooper franchise. sigh Tears, anyone?)

* * *

_My father used to say, "The value of things are seldom known until they are lost …" To be honest, I never thought much of it. (Would you if all you cared about were cookies and cop and robber games?) Life was the best it could be, and in my child's mind, nothing could change that._

_Well, until that night._

_Some gang broke into our home, and stole my family away from me, an irony known only to a band of thieves. All I remember was shouting and screaming, horrible crude laughter, and afterwards, silence._

_Then the cops showed up._

_But they couldn't do anything. Even if they had, they would have already caught the gang before they ended my parent's life, right? So they did the only thing they could do in that situation, which was lock the place up and take me to an orphanage._

_Which is where my story really begins._

(--)-(--)-(--)

"Come on, come on …"

A small, lithe figure squatted by the side garden gate, which was in back of the kitchen and behind the large dusty mansion that had served as her home for the past twelve years. It appeared to be hunched over the old-fashioned lock they had chained to the iron-wrought gate, so old it had eventually slipped down to rest on the ground, losing its grip over time. Nimble fingers worked frantically, while her hooded head nervously turned every other second or so to peak over her shoulder. The Matron would be making her rounds any minute now, she just knew it, and then she'd discover one bed empty. Of course, she'd put a dummy made up of pillows and a wig she'd found in the play room, but still. Paranoia made her forget about that part.

But the muscles in her fingers remembered what to do, even if her brain was too panicky to tell them what to do correctly. Raising the last mechanism inside, the lock popped open and the startled figure let it slip from her hands and fall to the ground, making a muffled thunk on the dirt. She winced and instinctively dropped lower to the ground, eyes wary and ears alert. But nothing had heard the sound; at least, nothing that she could see. Straitening up a bit so she wouldn't practically be lying on the ground, she readjusted her pouch backpack and opened the gate just enough so she could slip through, hoping they oiled the thing regularly. Luck had decided to grace her with a smile, and only a tiny squeak betrayed her presence. She held her breath and glided through, not bothering to stick around and even close the gate before jogging off silently into the night.

She'd done it. And now it was time to go home.

* * *

Yes, I KNOW it's really short. But they will get longer. Eventually. In time. I'm freakin' working on it, ok? o.o


	2. And after all it took to get here!

Hurray for reviews, even after the oh-so-short chapter! :D

**Hope Cooper**: Thanks; I was going to start out with her career and then backtrack, but I like this better.

**Kaiyt**: Thanks for the compliments. And ...what is this about blaming me? I have lawyers at my disposal you know! I can totally bribe you to keep silent! . And sweet, epicness!

* * *

_The house was, sadly, just a smidge worse than "run down" when I got there, returning after more than a decade. I had hoped, against better judgment, that perhaps another family member had inherited the house and fixed it up, lived there, or even left a calling number. But then, why hadn't they ever thought to find me? The fact was, I was alone, on my own, and very, very lost on what to do. Ever since the age where my mind could formulate schemes, the one thing I was working towards was getting out of the orphanage and back home, where ever home happened to be. Thankfully, the Matron's secretary hand-wrote all our files instead of typing them, so sneaking in and snagging mine had been relatively simple. I mean, how many kids wanted to steal their file so bad anyway? That orphanage was their only home, and they really had no way out other than adoption (which, between you and me, was a joke, mainly because it never happened) or getting out once you were eighteen._

_Pft, like I would wait that long._

_Anyway, I wanted my file so badly because in the back of my mind, like this nagging little gut instinct, I knew that I was different. That my family wasn't a normal family. That there was something special about what we did, and no one knew about it. Which was why, I took it upon myself to get good enough at lock picking and hiding and lurking around and all kinds of really useful stuff, so I could eventually break out and return home._

_But, it didn't turn out to be the welcome-home party that I hoped for ..._

(--)-(--)-(--)

The moon failed to show up, leaving the property grounds blanketed in thick, clinging shadows. The last source of light had been that lonely streetlamp on the out-skirts of town, which meant if one pushed onwards, they'd have to rely on night vision alone.

Which, worked out rather well in one particular person's circumstances.

It was impossible to see if anyone was approaching the house, at least by sight alone. And the figure was quiet on her feet too. Deeming it safe to come out into the open, the figure stepped out in front of the main gate, craning her neck to squint upwards at the top. Her black hood slipped back as she did so, reveling ebony hair, run through with deep purple streaks. Sighing, she brought her optics back to eye level and pulled the hood back over her head, reaching out and feeling the bars. It was tough and relatively rust free under her fingerless gloves; no ancient lock to bust through here. She'd have to find another way in.

Circling the complex left her panting and almost out of breath, bent over on her knees right where she had started. The walls were way to high and smooth to try and climb, and nothing pushed against them would even begin to help her get across. She would have to find another way in. And glancing around, she felt an idea blossoming in her mind's eye.

Less than a minute later, she was found in the large olden boughs of a tree, one of the dozens upon dozens surrounding the grounds. It looked like they were kept a decent distance back from the walls, to make sure no one could use the trees to jump over it. However, they hadn't been kept up with for quite some time, and some foliage had taken the opportunity to extend their branches even farther than normal. Even so, it was a formidable feat, farther than any distance she'd ever made successfully, and eyeing it now from all the way up there - well, it suddenly looked like a long way to fall.

Not that she was afraid of heights; she loved them, in fact. It was the image of her broken and twitching on the ground that she wasn't fond of.

If there was every a time for her to learn how to fly, this was it.

She ignored that sarcastic little voice everyone has in the back of her head, picturing her trip to the ER, and backed up as much as possible, to give herself more running room. And then she sprinted and jumped.

It took her far, but she immediately recognized that it wouldn't be enough. Like hell she was going to let a few feet stop her! Her head ducked and her feet tucked in, and performing an aerial flip she didn't know she was capable of, she managed to re-orient herself and fling one wild hand towards an iron speared design sitting firmly atop the wall. Which she luckily managed to grab. Swinging the other hand to grab on before she lost her grip, her old and fraying sneakers struggled vainly to find purchase on the smooth surface. Inch by inch, with no short abundance of grunts and swears, she pulled up, until she blindly swung one leg up, trying to get over the top. Fortunately it worked, her calf wedging between two pointed spears, allowing her foot to catch and hold on the other side. From there it was easy pulling herself the rest of the way. Landing on the other side wasn't too terrible either; sure, her ankles and knees smarted, but they seemed ok besides that. Anxious now that she could see the end of the road, she hurried ahead, forgetting to keep low to the ground and sprinting towards a place that was bringing up heavy and nostalgic feelings.

(--)-(--)-(--)

This was turning out to be a(nother) problem. Go freakin' figure.

It was great that she had gotten into the grounds. Really great. But now, she had to find a way IN the house.

Which, whadaya know, SHE HADN'T FOUND YET.

Could her dead parents have made this any harder for her?

All the doors were equipped with custom and complicated locks she hadn't even seen before, let alone even begin to try and figure out, some of them even electronic, which she had no hope for. Smashing down the door itself was out of the question as well: all of them looked thick and sturdy, and she knew that a showdown between her shoulder and that wood would end in a whole lot of pain for her.

So. She was kinda stuck.

Which was why her silhouette was seen creeping around the back, trailing in hopeless and frustrated circles. Without the help of a convenient trampoline, there wasn't any way she would be able to get to the upper floors and check the windows. (Because guess what the windows were down here? Probably made of flippin' plastic with neat little fancy locks to boot.)

It was in this mood of wallowing and sulking that her eyes passed over something forked and wooden in the ground, half-hidden by tall wild grass. Which didn't register until it was almost out of sight, which was when she did a double take.

"There IS a freakin' god," she muttered to herself, advancing until it was clear what the object was: an old fashioned door to a cellar. Her mouth broke out in a grin.

Score!

With some effort, she ripped open the door on its rusted hinges, hastily stepping back as it banged loudly on the ground, and yawning rectangle now beckoning her down into the belly of the property.

And without hesitation, she answered.


End file.
